


Here is the True Loyalist

by Megane



Category: Dishonored (Video Game)
Genre: Assassination, Betrayal, Canon Rewrite, Corruption, Gen, Kidnapping, Restoration, Righteousness, Royalty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-06
Updated: 2014-06-24
Packaged: 2018-01-23 20:30:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 5,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1578560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Megane/pseuds/Megane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A rewrite to the Good/Low Chaos ending in Dishonored. Spoilers, of course. Corvo Attano is a man on a mission. He has to save Emily from the corrupted group formerly known as The Loyalists. He refuses to let her remain in their hands and fall helpless to their evil ploys</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In the Mind of the Admiral

The “Loyalists”—a ragtag group of restoring order in the Empire. They were helmed by Teague Martin, Admiral Havelock, and Lord Pendleton—three men who dedicated their lives, funds, resources, and titles to fueling this brigade. 

While Corvo did the heavy work, they planned their next actions, making sure that their plans advanced as smoothly as possibly. To make sure they were prepared to replace the Lord Regent with the grace and ease that was required of them. Outside of Corvo’s return, some personally delivered results, and hearsay, none of the three knew what the assassin was up to as he crept through the isles. A part of them wanted to keep it that way, but the rest of their minds were filled with trembling curiosity.

 

And paranoia.

 

Havelock, especially, seemed to hole himself away to pen down his thoughts, some of which he muttered to himself when the conversation diverted away from himself. Such commentary was either muttered into a mug or into the muttered air of those around him. The man had a mean face, a mug meant for intimidation, but what he lacked was the ability to keep his emotions properly hidden. Perhaps it was because Martin and Pendleton had kept all his secrets and shared their own that they knew what troubled the Admiral day in and day out. Since Corvo’s arrival on at The Hound Pits, he has worked with surprising – and sometimes frightening – efficiency. The Lord and Overseer could easily guess the numerous worries that deepened the hard lines of the Admiral’s face. 

However, his other two companions weren’t without their own worries. They both knew that their titles were hard earned—Martin’s, perhaps, more than Pendleton’s—and they worried how much of their doings would be unraveled with the assassin alive. They voiced their upset in hushed tones and would, under Martin’s immediate signal, stop talking when one of the servants entered the room. When it was Havelock, they would return inside of the pub, drink, and talk diligently in regal words and tricky technicals.

But the day came when the three would have to move. They would have to clean their footprints, tie up loose edges, and eliminate those who had nothing more to gain—who had so much more to lose. Havelock’s tension steadied his face; his very presence was statuesque. He became quieter and quieter, stiffly engaging in conversation with Martin and Pendleton but giving stray compliments to the staff and Samuel. The two decided to ignore it, occasionally bidding Corvo hello and assigning him tasks just to keep him busy for a time.

After Corvo had left, Samuel was given a task as well to send him far away from the Hound Pits. Little did they know that he waited behind the rocks, listening to the festivities quickly die down. Had they searched the perimeter before moving out, they would have found his audiograph lying just behind the bodies they shot.

Pendleton dabbed his face clean of blood. His fingers trembled as he clutched the handkerchief, and Martin’s jaw set hard and firm as he grit his teeth. The two men followed Havelock to Piero’s shop, trying to find their way inside but to no avail. Havelock frowned briefly, annoyed at the failure, before turning to Pendleton.

            “Call the guards. We’ll be moving on now; secure this area.” To Martin, he said, “Fetch Lady Emily. We’re moving to the Lighthouse. Drug her if you have to, but bring her no harm. She is our lovely Empress-to-be.”

Martin nodded and moved inside the Pub to grab the young Princess. Havelock rolled his pistol on his finger, stuffing it into the holster on his side. He stalked inside the Pub, searching for a pen and paper to scrawl instructions for the coming guards. They had many things to do. They had to make sure things went perfectly…

 

Havelock would absolutely make sure that _everything_ went perfectly.


	2. Dastardly Dandy

How long had Corvo been gone? Where was he now? Who was he facing? But most of all, was he dead? No, that last question was truly one of paranoia. He had a suspicion that Corvo wouldn't be dead. He just _knew it_ somehow. Ever since they organized for Martin to break Corvo out of Coldridge Prison, that man had been capable of many things. Pendleton was worried.

It was in an aristocrat’s nature to worry and be afraid of _something_ in _some_ nature, but no other noble knew fear like Treavor Pendleton did. He knew the man they hired for this cause. He had all but seen the deaths and punishments he had afflicted to those he came across. He was efficient, truer than an assassin. He was something more. He was _special_.

And Lord Pendleton could not like “special” even if it was on his side. It was unpredictable, so he tried his best to keep it in his favour. To keep Corvo busy, working petty jobs and give him minor information. To show sympathy and look _human_ even though he was formulating future misdeeds like a monster. He feared and respected Corvo in a way similar to Piero. The man was an unstoppable foe and a questionable ally. Loyal he was to the Empire, the man had much to be bitter about. And Pendleton knew that the collective efforts of the Loyalists would only add salt to that stinging bitterness.

Sometimes he found himself swallowing a lump in his throat as he talked to nobles, asserting their purpose with (un-)ease. 

            “As you can see, Overseer Teague has proven his merit time and again. I believe he was… coerced by that villain Corvo Attano into setting him free. Have you not heard how he ‘took care’ of the High Overseer? Of the Lord Regent?”

            “I heard that the High Overseer became a Weeper,” mentioned an appalled aristocratic woman.

            “No. It can’t be!” exclaimed the male beside her.

            “Quite possibly,” Pendleton remarked, turning his attention to the taller male.

His tone was self-assured—he sounded more confided. And the flat-footed way the man retorted left Pendleton feeling… satisfied. He bowed very minutely at the waist, swinging his hand around to press against the bottom of his stomach as he excused himself, exiting out of the room to speak with other nobles.

Over and over, nobles begged (or sometimes politely asked) to see Lady Emily. They wanted to see and believe with their own eyes, and while there was still much skepticism with a lot of them, the amount of hearsay left them curious, craving to see the young Empress’ face. Pendleton made no promises and in fact broke more hearts with disappointment. Some he left better and jealous that he knew her location and knew her health; others he left suspicious, but they had the culture and manner not to say anything themselves. 

He knew these noble creatures as they were their own manner of beasts. He placed his wine glass on the balcony as he stared out into the harbour that emptied out into the ocean. It would be his time to head back soon, to meet Havelock and Martin and talk about their agenda. He had a horrible feeling in the pit of his stomach, not wanting to talk to these men and women of Parliament—wanting much more to sit in the arrogant company of his brothers.

He tipped his head down, staring at the steep descent to the floor, just briefly wondering how many bodies could be piled between there and where he stood. He shook at the macabre thought, turning – almost too quickly – when someone called his name. His hand, unsteady, hit the wine glass, and it tumbled from the railing.

Lord Pendleton turned very slightly, half watching with mostly horror as the wine glass tumbled to the ground. A steady arch of alcohol curved into the air, and what followed was a ringing crash. Glass littered the stone, and wine splattered in a deep red. Lord Pendleton felt the bile rise to his throat as a Parliament noble touched his hand. He spoke with a weak voice, clearing his throat and speaking more surely. He placed a hand on the nobleman’s back, leading his company back inside.

 

He resisted every urge to look over his shoulder as if knowing Corvo was there perched behind him.


	3. Having a Little Tact

Martin, now High Overseer, could feel the paranoia crawling over the skin of his comrades. He spoke without excitement, stating that Corvo was dead, that Daud had gone missing, and the Empire was theirs to seize. He was worried, yes, that none of that would be true, but he focused on what they had achieved thus far. They were the ones who knew everything. Emily was afraid, suspicious, and would not immediately be on their side. Callista was the only other way to keep the young Empress from being truly disheartened, but by Havelock’s orders, the woman was locked away in a tower. Like a horrible fairytale.

He talked with the other Overseers, and their trust, admittedly, was a lot harder to win. Martin spoke either in short words or with concise bravado that had the others believe his passion for the Empire. It wasn’t just that. He wanted control as well, and it wasn’t as though he disliked the Empress. But she wasn’t fit in this time of turmoil and chaos. It was unfortunate, he believed, that she didn’t have the proper tools to escalate the Isles to a higher plane of prosperity before her passing. But with her death came wonderful opportunities, such as this.

While he was a smart man, he wasn’t an evil man—at least in this extent. He can admit to becoming greedy throughout their plotting. The more evil they committed as a group, the more it stained his soul and he already had so much to bear. He wanted the power to make things right, to wash away the stains of what he had done—or to at least fade them a little, but now. Now his intent had been muddled, and he just knew that he had to have the crown as Lord Regent.

Martin lost interest in gaining allies quick and chose to take a more cerebral route to securing his power. He spoke privately with various officers, crept through his various networks with vilifying evidence of their past deeds. He had scrolls and notes, audiographs and pictures that took all Overseers by surprise. And those who couldn’t be silenced were immediately faced with an ultimatium—a fate he could deliver that was worst than death. Martin’s methods were never completely known by Pendleton or Havelock, but sometimes, an Overseer shook, breathing out fear struck: ‘black magick’.

Though he was mysterious in many ways, he always got his end done. However, whenever he walked to meet Pendleton and Havelock, he could see the two conversing without him. Pendleton spoke passionately in a small voice, shifting his weight and fidgeting his arm. Havelock would speak without looking in the noble’s direction, sometimes chancing to look at the ground before just barely glancing over. And when Martin would approach, they would hush. They wouldn’t finish the sentence nor would they change the subject. They would hush.

Martin immediately pegged Pendleton as a coward and a gossip, following in the set lines of an aristocrat. He looked to Havelock more warily, relying less on the Admiral’s mind and focusing more on the paranoid actions that would follow. Martin was the tactician, and now he had to account of the inevitable bloodstained betrayal of his allies. When he was alone, he thought about the travesty and laughed at the fact that hostility and paranoia was taking him too.

Even though tensions rose higher and higher, he liked to think he was the sane one of the group. He was the one out of the three who would come out on top. He argued with them time and time again that “ **I** should be Lord Regent!!” because his mind was unflappable; he stated that he was more hardened, that he was “not afraid of Corvo and ‘his tricks’”, that he was just the face that the Empress and the Empire needed to see.

Pendleton stated that he was a noble! He knew the ins and outs, the tricky minds and the finicky culture of the highbrow world. He wouldn’t relinquish such eloquence and insufferable complexities to those who didn’t know what else to expect at each corner. A very _mild_ way of calling the other two dull and unsavoury. Havelock’s voice didn’t raise, but the hostility shook his tone nonetheless. Prior to all of this… he wasn’t a criminal, like Martin, and he wasn’t a save-face dandy like Pendleton. He had the muscles and the means to take care of Emily, and he had the minds, referring of course to Sokolov, Piero, and their new creation. Nothing his two "allies" really knew much about. They just knew that Havelock was obsessed with this ‘arc pylon’ and wanted—though he damn near insisted that he  _needed_ —to have it.

And after arguing to exhaustion, Havelock stormed upstairs – probably to scribble mindlessly more, and Pendleton left in an offended huff, off to who knows where to do who cares what. Martin dwaddled, wandering down the stairs to stare at the statue of the previous Lord Regent, reflecting on what it would mean to have such a great name. Such a great power.

He sighed, rubbing his lip and staring off into space. He had been there for some time before Havelock called for him. The thicker male leaned over the balcony, looking down to the High Overseer down below. Martin nodded his head, feeling exhausted and irritated but joining the two at the large table. He rested his elbow next to a filled mug, listening to Havelock drone on and on about their next steps.


	4. Perilous Rescue

When Corvo arrived, it was no shock to the Admiral. At this point, he was exhausted and didn’t care. The assassin had flipped through the pages of Havelock’s journal, reading the various reactions to his continuing success out on the field. Learning all that these “Loyalists” had done to achieve their goals, it brought no joy to Corvo that _he_ was the one who had done all of their work. Kidnapping Sokolov might have been the best thing he had done up until this point, but disposing of Lady Boyle with that depraved Lord Brisby, dispatching the other two Pendleton brothers with Slackjaw’s care—even though they weren’t necessarily killed, they were far from safe. And there had been others that had been murders. There have been others whose deaths have been triggered by Corvo’s actions only to be exacted at a later date.

The former Royal Protector curled his lip at Havelock’s handwriting, seeing that the man had questioned his loyality to the Crown. The Empress was brutally killed in an act of politics. She had seen a petty death, died like a common fool. And though he hated to say it, Corvo found that he was no assassin; he was no mercenary or righteous man. From the start at the Prison, he was a puppet only to be led around (and, at some point, poisoned) by these fools. These were the same men who had Emily in their care, who would go from restoring the true Empress to her throne to fighting over it, ripped apart by the madness of being so close to their goal. Of course, _he_ kept his loyalty. Of course, _he_ knew where his priorities were. Even if he had not cared about the state of Dunwall, Corvo cared about Emily. She deserved more than a dead mother and cursed dreams. But that was a price even a child must pay for the Empire.

Corvo appeared a ways away from Havelock. Gun readied in one hand; his blade held open to his side. He took cautious steps forward, moving in stealth as Havelock rambled on to his companions. Who seemed unnervingly quiet. Havelock turned and looked to Corvo, a hard frown set on his face.

            “Do you think I would fight you, Corvo? Hm. Sorry to disappoint.”

The silent male rolled his weapon, compacting it as he moved closer to the other two. They sat at the table, poisoned it would seem by the same drug Samuel had administered to him. Corvo turned his head, glaring at Havelock from behind his mask.

            “After all this?” Corvo began.

            Havelock nodded, staring into the fire. “After all this…” he repeated. “It’s time to put an end to this, you could say. I couldn’t afford dealing with mad men.” He glanced over to Corvo. “It’s time you see Emily. I figure it’s right to see her one last time.”

Havelock motioned his hand towards the key on the small table next to the fireplace. Corvo glanced towards it. There was a soft clink as Havelock set his drink on the mantle.

            “And then, once you see her, bid farewell. I can’t afford to leave loose ends.”

Corvo took a step back as he heard the click of a chambering bullet. He pulled his weapon back out, and before it was ready, Havelock shot. The assassin dissipated into black smoke. When he reappeared, he was just behind Havelock’s left—out of range of being elbowed and too close for a proper shot. He grabbed the bigger man’s wrist, feeling a tremor through his entire body as Havelock squeezed on the trigger. The bullet zipped over the masked man’s shoulder, going stray and hitting a bookcase.

Corvo could hear Emily shout his name in muffled question just as his blade stabbed through the traitor’s arm. Blood spurted from the wound, and Corvo brought up his own arm, slamming his elbow down against Havelock’s, hearing the crack of bone and the clatter of the pistol. The assassin reappeared in front of his foe in a flash, just as the pistol shot off into the fireplace upon hitting the ground. With one final strike, Corvo sliced off the formal Naval officer’s head, watching it roll across the ground. His attention was brought back with Emily’s call of “Corvo…? Havelock…? Who’s out there?!”

 

He had to go see her.

 

He grabbed the key and headed to the room where her voice was coming from. She rushed into his arms, and he embraced her. She asked him if she was going to be Empress, and he told her of course. But in his mind, he was worried about the danger that awaited them out there. They had no way to get back now that Samuel was gone, and Corvo had no way of bringing the old sailor back. Emily took another step back, staring at the ground, saying she was worried about how to get out of here. Corvo mused that she was always a bright girl. Emily perked up again, saying that there was a boat at the side of the island, but they would still have to get down the elevator to get to it. She hoped that it wasn't gone and asked Corvo if he knew of any other way to get out of here.

When he told her that Samuel had already came and went, she sighed briefly, looking saddened before looking to him with a brave face.

            “We have to go, Corvo. I want to be Empress.”

The assassin stood offering his hand to her.

 

And an Empress she shall be.


	5. Now or [There is No] Never

There was no way for the guards to be notified of what happened up there, but they still had to move quickly. Corvo grit his teeth as he waited for Emily to reappear. There wasn’t much in the Watch Tower for her, but she found something to pull on. One of Pendleton’s aristocratic blazers lay on the ground as Emily stepped forward in a new coat. From the body shape and decorations, Corvo figured it belonged to Martin. Emily fiddled with part of the coat and yanked it up. The back collar was high enough to frame the back of her head, but there was nothing for her face. They wandered a little bit, trying to find something that would add as protection. A few belts were added on to keep the coat from opening or being too loose in some spots.

Ultimately, they had to pull certain items from the Loyalists’ corpses to get what they needed.

            “It’s okay, Corvo,” Emily reassured. “It’s all for a good purpose.”

The assassin paused and looked down to Emily. The poor girl looked haunted, staring directly at Martin’s corpse. Her hands hung loosely at her sides. Corvo bent down next to her, and Emily side-glanced to him.

            “Seriously… I’m okay. Let’s just… Let’s just go, alright? I’m going to be Empress.”

            “Soon.”

            “ _Very_ soon.”

She smiled, and he nodded his head slightly. She wouldn’t have seen the smile on his face if he had one. Right now, he was worried about what trouble they would face. As Corvo rifled through Martin’s pockets, he heard the distinct sound of metal unsheathing and turned quickly to see Emily revealing a dagger. 

            “This is fine,” she assessed, putting the blade away again.

            “It will rest at your hip,” Corvo instructed.

            “Gladly. I’m just not sure how to use it.”

Stuffing some coin into his back pocket, the former (and soon to be reinstated) Royal Protector gave Emily a crash course.

            “… And keep your thumb under the guard. If you drape it over your knuckles, you’ll make a mistake. Keep your fingers relaxed as well. Just enough to keep your hand from cramping up.” 

Emily gave an experimental thrust forward. Corvo tilted her wrist. She tried again, and he nodded. The young Empress sheathed her weapon. “I think that’s good enough for now,” the assassin stated, making his way towards the stairs. “We have to get out of here.” Emily nodded with a little noise and followed closely after her Protector. As they descended down the stairs, Corvo tried to plan on how to use his abilities around Emily. He thought to explain things to her or just in brief introduce her to the powers of the Outsider. Either way, it would take more time than he had to explain, especially if he walked and talked. He decided to stow yet another lesson away for when they got out of there. They began their way down the elevator. Corvo was on such high alert that he didn’t even notice that Emily was so quiet.

The elevator stopped and just as the assassin looked down to the young girl:

            “I’m ready.”

Emily spoke up confidently, voice surprisingly even. Corvo stared at her quietly. Her gaze was set forward. Her smaller hands clenched into tight fists. 

            “Remember to relax your hands.”

            Emily’s entire being visibly relaxed just a bit, and she nodded her head. “Right.”

            “Okay.” The assassin lowered his stance, pulling out his weapons. “Let’s go.”


	6. Revealing Tale

Emily wasn’t good in the fact that she cut down enemies and evaded obstacles. She was good in the fact that she knew how to survive. She took direction well—she worried about Corvo’s wellbeing, but she never stopped to ask if he was okay. Whenever they broke away to split up, she somehow knew how to find him. Might have been by accident — might have been planned. He hadn’t had time to assess.

There had been a time when Emily had been caught or when a guard was about to be alerted, and Corvo took care of them. Each time, Emily stared at him with wide eyes, wanting to ask questions but knowing better than to ask at this moment.

They spotted the boat, but they were still a frustrating distance away. Emily spun around when she heard the urgent bark of a guard’s words.

            “We’re going to be too late!” Emily exclaimed, letting the panic and worry set into her voice.

            “Find them! Report to Admiral Havelock and the others!”

            “Cor—”

The young brunette’s words died on her throat as Corvo grabbed her shoulder. She was sure they stood barely hidden near rocks and pillars, but in the next moment, she heard the wet, grainy crunch of sand. Corvo pulled her shoulder gently and let her go. The Empress-to-be dumbly grabbed Corvo’s wrist, following after him without tripping over her own feet.

Emily sat down in the boat, and Corvo pushed it into the water. He glanced over his shoulder and lifted his hand, gripping the air as time froze around him and the young girl. When everything returned to normal, they had a decent enough distance away from the island.

            “Corvo. Remind me when this is all over…” Emily’s words were so slow and careful. Corvo focused on the small girl’s face just as she looked up to him, “to get you to tell me what that is about.”

She motioned towards Corvo’s hand. The assassin brought up his right hand, staring at the marking before lowering it down.

            “If you’d like, I can tell you some of it now.”

Emily had turned her head away, staring back into the water’s depths. At first, she pressed her lips together and began to shake her head, but then she sighed through her nose and nodded.

            “Actually, that would be excellent." 

Corvo smiled just a little bit before he rehashed the events that happened on That Fateful Day. Emily’s face was stiff at first. She guarded her emotions as she listened to Corvo talk about her mother’s death, but from that moment, she relaxed and allowed pain, relief, sometimes disgust, and then wonder wash over her features. Corvo felt a burden slowly lift from him as he shared his tale. He felt as though he had been guarding some awful secret, but in truth, it was just good to relay it to someone who needed to hear it the most.

 

And soon, they would tell all of Dunwall of their conquest, and order would be restored.


	7. The Announcement

Corvo had remembered something he read that Emily soon voiced.

Pendleton had mentioned that there would be some sort of get together arranged, but when they landed, it wasn’t time for that yet. Corvo found a place for him and the young Empress to hide. A place that was near food and had running water. Surprisingly tough to find something like that that wasn’t infected by Weepers, or at the very least didn’t have Tallmen doing patrol. Worse than them were the thugs that hadn’t dispersed or been taken by the plague.

When the gala was mentioned, Emily feared she would reek of stink. “Even if my body is clean, my clothes are still…” Corvo took a moment to smile just barely at Emily change in moods, finding such a simple fear refreshing. He did mention that there was someone who could help them. He only hoped that they were still there.

            “It’s you!” Emily breathed in surprise, taking quick strides towards the tall man.

            “Oh! _Emily!”_ The Dressmaker wrapped his arms around the young girl.

The two shared a brief embrace, and The Dressmaker gazed up to Corvo.

            “You found her. You _actually_ found her.” The tailor glanced down to Emily, stroking the top of her head in dazed awe. “Paint me a liar if I said I thought you could do it, but here she is,” he stated as he glanced back to Corvo. Unable to help himself, he looked back down to the girl. “Here she is…”

            “I’m going to need a dress—or something for the gala coming up,” Emily interjected, not wanting to rest in the tender moment.

            The lanky male furrowed his brows. “The Gala? Ah, the one Sir Pendleton had arranged, but…” He looked to Corvo, unable to hide the confusion. “Is he ready to announce her?”

            “Sir Pendleton… won’t be coming,” the young Empress corrected. She stepped away from the tailor, having his attention. “Corvo and I will do this.”

            “Ah… They’re not too fond of _you_ , Corvo…”

The Protector lifted his head silently, gazing at The Dressmaker.

            Emily placed her hands on her hips. “They don’t have to be.” Both men looked in her direction. “So long as they listen to _me_ , they don’t have to have a favourable opinion of Corvo. At least at first, but I’m hoping that, after this, that will change.”

            The Dressmaker scratched the back of his head. “I hope so too.”

He smoothed his hand down to the back of his neck, lips set together as he stared at Emily. He turned to Corvo and then looked back to the young girl.

            “You know what, let’s do this. I’ll get you the finest garment I can manage.”

            “Alright!” Emily beamed.

            The Dressmaker turned to Corvo. “And you’ll—”

            “—have to go get supplies,” the assassin guessed, folding his arms.

            “Yes, but first, you’ll have to undress a bit so I can get your measurements.” The tailor fanned his hand towards a window, “and _then_ you’ll go get supplies.”

Emily hid a laugh behind her hand, and Corvo nodded, following the tailor into another room.

It was after that the quiet worry began to set in with all of them. Corvo remembered everything as a disjointed blur. He found supplies to the best of his abilities. Slackjaw even helped him out (with some hesitation and disdain). Emily was fitted with a new garb, Corvo as well. There were some jokes, and The Dressmaker had nudged Corvo’s shoulder, smiling as he said “I had better be there.”

Three days had passed, and at one point, Emily was almost certain they had missed it. But no, Corvo assured, it was tonight. The final night.

 

And it went exactly as he had planned.

 

Emily nervously cupped his hand as they meshed in with a crowd of self-important aristocrats. Corvo gave her small hand a little squeeze and nodded his head. Before the two made it through the main courtyard, the crowd began to flow around approaching guards. Corvo and Emily stopped. The young girl closed her eyes, hoping they would be able to move without problems.

And of course, that wasn’t the case.

The guards passed by them at first, but when Emily squeaked, Corvo knew something was wrong. Emily was practically ripped from his grasp, and when he turned, there was the open end of a pistol awaiting him.

            “It’s the traitor!"

There was a loud gasp, and people began to shift backwards away from the four. Someone pointed at Emily.

            “It’s Lady Emily!”

            “I thought she was killed!”

            “Tricks! Tricks of the Outsider!”

            “Explain yourself,” the guard hissed, raising his thumb to pull back the hammer.

            “Listen to him!” Emily shouted.

The crowd quieted just a bit. The guard in front of Corvo turned his head slightly, gazing at the supposed traitor from the side of his eyes. Emily wrestled away from the guard holding her and ran to Corvo. The masked man picked her up and turned to set her on one of the tables. He pulled his hands away carefully, making sure she was stable. Her heels clicked on the wire table. People began to crowd closer, some muttering that it _sounded_ like the Lady. But could it possibly be her?

Someone whispered _“tricks, tricks”_ and pointed to Corvo’s hand. There was a gasp, and the silent man hid his hand behind his back.

            “Corvo Attano,” Emily began, “is a great man. And he saved me from peril.”

            “He killed your Mother—the Empress!” an aristocrat desperately called out.

            “ _I was there_ ,” the young brunette stated, voice firm and staring dead at the crier. “I have seen what Daud,” she looked down to Corvo who nodded his head, “has done. I was there when he killed my mother—when he took me away. Were _you_?”

There was a small wave of bodies that slumped forward. They had nothing to say. Emily sighed deeply as she continued, saying how Admiral Havelock captured her, who the Loyalists were, and how their plans fell apart. (She left out the names of those who weren’t deceased.)

People listened but soon became gripped by confusion and fear that they had all been misled. Corvo thought, at first, that there would be a riot; that people would turn on them just as quickly. But Emily stood firm atop the courtyard tables, turning herself to call the attention of raving adults. Corvo reached up to take her down, wanting to protect her from who knows what was about to happen. Emily breathed in deeply and placed a hand on Corvo’s head. He turned his attention from the crowd up to her.

 

            “It’s okay, Corvo,” Emily reassured, nodding her head once and slowly. “Let them come.”


	8. Finale.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written from The Outsider's POV.

_And so, young Lady Emily took her rightful place at the throne and rose to power. She approached each disbeliever not as a problem but as a worried citizen. She and Corvo unfurled the long list of nefarious deeds committed by the Loyalists before the public. There were still strong, angry voices that were harder to quiet down. They roared in their reluctance to accept that Corvo had never been a fiend—that he was simply a man betrayed. Emily was young but persuasive. She was a small emulation of her mother. She presented the facts as though she had been doing this for years. She very little referred to the papers that Corvo had retrieved. For the most part, she was there. She spoke with building passion until she left the crowd speechless._

_Over time, she would control her heart and would thread her emotions into her words, moving the masses. Until then, she continued to speak with a strong decisiveness and helped people consider different perspectives than what they were used to. What a brilliant child. Her calm demeanor astounded her people, reminding them all of the former Empress. With that strength metaphysically guiding her, Emily became a beacon of possibility, of betterment and change for the fallen city of Dunwall._

_Corvo loyally stood at her side all the while, guarding her, protecting her as he was always meant to. For them, their world fell into a rightful balance. Their order was restored._

_Piero and Sokolov reemerged with a new concoction to cure Weepers from all around. Their ingenius creation saved and repaired lives. Citizens were no longer afraid of their sickness. Though they were persecuted by Guards too cynical to believe, many sufferers of the plague found safety in Piero and Sokolov’s amazing elixir._

_The results were astounding. The cure was miraculous and abundant. For every person they cured, they were repaid in the items they needed to create their brew. The people of Dunwall could breathe freely._

_The rat plague was no longer a death sentence, and for that, the city and its people could rise again with Emily and Corvo leading the ascension._

_Congratulations, Corvo. You’ve_ never _failed to astound me. I shall be here to see how you prosper. I want to see how you live when you no longer fight to survive._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the unfitting ending, but I wanted to add an ending. I forgot and didn't have the time. I hope this was a satisfying rewrite, and I hope you've enjoyed.


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